After The Stars
by mizayakichan
Summary: After Taki Tachibana meets Mitsuha Miyamizu on the stairs eight years after the Comet Tiamat struck Itomori, they are unable to recognise each other, but a lingering feeling of attachment draws them closer. Despite their own, separate lives, can they still reconnect, even if they cannot remember their past together? Set in the aftermath of the movie Kimi No Nawa.


" _Your name is?"_

"Mitsuha."

"Taki."

The name struck a bell in me, chiming out like a roar. _Taki, Taki, Taki._ I could see my own dumbfounded expression mirrored upon his visage. Who was he? A face of the past, washed away with the waves of time? Perhaps a reflection of myself that enticed me – another soul, searching for something or someone? Or just another stranger in Tokyo that I was inevitably fated to meet?

Fate. A strange concept. People around me believed in the "red string of fate": that an invisible, scarlet cord tied around one's pinky finger would lead to one's destined soulmate. Foolishness. I couldn't suppress a wry smile making its way onto my lips.

"Mitsuha, I-" He stopped, eyes shining with faint recognition as he fumbled for words. I followed his burning line of vision. Was there something on my face? Oh, my hair. More specifically, my almost signature red braided cord that kept my hair out of my face. I glanced down to avoid his stare and saw – an almost identical string around his wrist.

"How did you get that? That bracelet on your arm."

He seemed startled. "It's not really a bracelet. But I, umm, I can't seem to remember. A train? It's quite fuzzy. Slipped my mind."

A warm breeze whispering in the leaves reminded me that we were still paused on the staircase, staring like fools. I felt my cheeks heat up. "Why don't we- err, go to a café or something, instead of here," I suggested. Taki hesitated. _Must have been too forward. Way to go, Mitsuha._

"I can't. Job interview in half an hour."

"I can give you a lift there. I might be taking a taxi in the same direction. Where is it?"

"Just a train stop away, there's really no need."

"Then how about –"

I was sounding like some desperate schoolgirl, finding ways to get closer to some flighty love interest in some typical novel. We were adults, for God's sake! Why was I so insistent on spending time with a complete stranger? He had his own life, I had my own life. And I was going to _ask him out_. What was wrong with me? Who the hell asks a random stranger out on some kind of convoluted _date_?

"Then it's alright. Nice meeting you, Taki."

"You too, Mitsuha."

He bowed and smiled awkwardly, and I stiffly returned it. And as we both turned away, I let out a sharp breath to clear my head. I started heading for the bus stop, maybe grab a coffee.

"Wait!"

I whipped around. Taki clambered up the steps and held out his phone, breathing a little heavier.

"Can I save your phone number? Maybe we can… umm…"

I couldn't help but grin at his bashfulness. I exchanged phones with him and entered my number, face probably ablaze. Stupid hormones. I haven't even met him five minutes.

Saving my contact as " _The Girl From The Stairs (Mitsuha Miyamizu)_ ", I took back my device. Our fingers brushed slightly.

"See you around, I guess."

And just like that, he was gone, and I was left alone, staring at his retreating shadow.

What was the time?

It was like a dream.

That night, I felt an overwhelming urge to flip through some pictures. If only the photo albums had survived the wreckage of Itomori. I consoled myself by eating ice cream and wrapping myself in a blanket, before opening up my laptop and answering a few emails.

I didn't really enjoy my job – it was something to do, it fed me, and it was better than not having a job at all, but it wasn't my ideal choice. Office work wasn't for me. After living in a rural, mountainous place for fifteen years, one kind of gets used to farming.

That wasn't to say I _liked_ farming. I hated everything about Itomori – until the comet had struck. Quite ironic, really. One only begins to appreciate something after it's gone. People, places, things. All disappear and we are left pining for something, someone.

I sipped at a cup of chamomile tea, snapping my laptop shut and picking up my phone, face lighting up as I received a text from _him_.

 _Call me when you read this._

I dialled the number and held it up to my ear, heart pounding in time to the loading chimes of the call.

"Itsuki!"

"Ah, Mitsuha, finally decided to call me, I see."

"You literally texted me three seconds ago."

"It was a very painful three second period, you know."

"Whatever. Café Niko in ten?"

"Sure."

I sighed happily as we ended the call. Itsuki was the best person for late night conversations. We usually ended up haunting our regular spot (Café Niko, basically) with a cuppa, sometimes with the owner herself – Niko – and her husband Yuuto joining in occasionally.

Itsuki and I had known each other for a long time – ever since I had moved to Tokyo, we had met in school and immediately hit it off. He was an arse, but he was still my best friend. Even if I didn't see him in that way.

It hurt whenever he talked about a cute new girl at work or some hot chick at a bar, but it was fine. Crushes go away soon enough, so the unwanted stirrings of jealousy didn't paralyse me as long as I kept in mind the futility of "falling in love".

Changing into proper clothes, I slung a tote bag over my shoulder and slipped into a pair of flats, walking out of my apartment onto the pavement. The stars shone coldly in the greyish sky (damned light pollution) and the moon was the barest lick of silver in the night. Despite the time, lingering shadows of passers-by still haunted the street, awaiting a new victim of their one-night infatuations, or laughing over wisps of smoke, or merely watching. Others still seemed to be lost in their own world, whirling in and out of shops. And there were those like me: heading somewhere but uncertain of where their life was headed. Directionless. A bubble floating upon a sea of noise.

I was one in the multitudes – unimportant, insignificant – as the crowds rushed by. I would be swallowed into the great tide of people, enveloped in the drowning sensation of losing individuality. Dodging a stray elbow, allowing myself to do all the miniscule, unnoticed adjustments in order to avoid coming into contact with any stranger. Each of us to ourselves in the overwhelming hive mind of the public.

The sepia lighting of Café Niko was a warm hug as the silver bells strung in front of the heavy wooden door tinkled. I shrugged off my jacket and perched in my usual spot, a worn out armchair next to Itsuki. He wordlessly slid a steaming cup of rose and French vanilla tea to me. I inhaled in the sweet fragrance.

"Mitsuha!" Niko sang out, laying out a plate in front of me. An unassuming, white-frosted slice of cake stared at me. I breathed in its subtle scent.

"Hmm. Earl grey and lavender?"

"Nope, that was last week."

"Matcha? Some sort of tea, at least."

"Half right. Getting warmer."

"Oh! Chamomile and something. I can't tell the last one."

Yuuto grinned from behind the counter. "Chamomile and arsenic. Or bleach."

" _Yuuto!_ I wouldn't poison a loyal customer!"

"She won't be a customer for long if she eats that."

"Stop scaring off the patrons, darn it!"

Itsuki chuckled and pointed to the chalkboard. "It's chamomile and ginger. Read the sign, stupid," he teased.

"Ginger? That's a bit weird."

"Trust me, it's not only beneficial to your health and whatever, it tastes _great_. I mean, that's the only important thing, honestly. If people bothered to care about what we put into their beloved lattes, they'd be screaming with complaints of diabetes." Niko sat herself on the corner of the table, unknotting her apron.

"Come on, dear, we don't put that much sugar in one cup. Just, oh, three or so tablespoons," her husband stage-whispered in her ear, all the while smirking wickedly at her unamused expression.

"Yes, you should know, since all you ingest are your own damned coffees."

"Hey, I thought we got over the coffee/tea debate ages ago!"

"It was never over to begin with."

Leaving the couple to their bickering, I turned to my unusually quiet best friend. His amber eyes were far away, lost in his own mind. I could never tell what he was thinking, and his deadpan expression left everything to the imagination. Nothing gave his internal thoughts away.

"What's wrong?"

He grimaced and turned to me. "Nothing. Just kind of tired."

"Work? Stress? Or is that some code word for depression?"

He snorted and nearly spat out his mouthful of tea. I felt a sense of relief as a smile began to settle on his lips. The almost noticeable melancholic aura around him started to dissipate.

"Only you'd say something like that."

"I'm special, okay?"

"Yes, you are."

I patted him on his head (gosh, his fluffy hair was adorable!) and turned back to my cake.

The memory of a certain stranger was the last thing on my mind.


End file.
